Carry On Stranger
by Harley'n'Joker
Summary: Consciousness was a wonderful thing. Amazing to be exact. It was always much more fun to enjoy the fruits of your work when you d carefully and of course with the right amount of mischievousness planned them to the last detail. But right now, at this very moment, his consciousness could suck it up and screw itself royally into next week! - Sequel to Hello Gabriel...just fyi...


And here we are again. Couldn´t wait for any feedback at all, I just assume you want to know what happened to our angel #1.

So this is a continuation of "Hello Gabriel" (for all of you who found themselves here first).

This time it starts bloody and continues to be an AU from now on, so feel warned and enjoy reading.

Any mistakes are, as always, mine.

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_Consciousness was a wonderful thing. Amazing to be exact. It was always much more fun to enjoy the fruits of your work when you´d carefully and of course with the right amount of mischievousness planned them to the last detail. Of course there was always the possibility of the plan not going according to…well…plan. And that was where your conscious and brilliantly scheming brain came to save your entertainment. Either to conjure up compensation for your utterly crushed ego or to change a few details so the result was still very satisfactory. And if he had to admit it improvisation always led to even more hilarious things, which was never not great and exciting._

_Conclusion: He loved his consciousness to the death and if there would have been an option to marry it he´d be the first to volunteer thinking about it._

_But right now, at this very moment, his consciousness could suck it up and fuck itself royally into next week!_

His body felt heavy like lead and when he tried to move his arms and legs despite his obvious disability to do so, because you at least had to try one stupid time, the dull pain thumping in synch with every heart beat turned into something sharp and fierce spreading from his toes to the tips of his hair. The groan escaping his dry, chapped lips sounded weak and tired and so unlike himself that it was almost comical. And he probably would´ve laughed heartily at it if his lungs weren´t burning like he´d run a thirty-mile-race in two hours, just taking in enough of the moist air for him not to become light-headed and faint again. Which actually would´ve been, given a yearning thought or two, a blessing.

The clothes he wore, at least that was a humiliation he could happily scratch from his list, were ice-cold and clung wetly to his lower half. And given the down-pour that seemed very keen to massage the ache out of his tired legs, a shame it had no effect, it would remain that way for as long as he was lying here. Wherever _**here**_ exactly was. Given the sulfuric smell of foul eggs and the overly sweet, tangy aroma of rotten fruits near a dumpster…or a very cheap brothel. He would see when he was finally able to pry his eyes open.

He desperately hoped the first but grudgingly expected the latter. At least it would explain why he was lying in the dirt, freezing to death and probably drowning if he stayed here a few more hours without memories of what happened the night before and a not-pleasant ache in every muscle. Because that indicated an evening of heavy drinking either because of fun and camaraderie or of desperation to make unattractive women look the least bit appealing so his little friend would be willing to join the party.

This time he did laugh and only regretted it when a coughing fit followed swiftly making his stomach cramp painfully. On the other hand the fit had enough force to finally get him on his hands and knees and open his damn heavy eyes. And it was nothing he would have expected in a life-time.

Blood. Everywhere. Even the rain soaking through his clothes had been no rain at all but the crimson liquid of life itself and when his mind finally caught up with his vision he hastily scrambled back under the roof that had kept him half-dry. He stared hazily at his naked, red feet but when they didn´t answer all of his panicking thoughts his gaze wandered back up into the dark space in front of him.

And now he heard them. Faint at first, like they were miles and miles away but growing louder with every second. Screams. Groans. Pleas for mercy…for death. And if he hadn´t been feeling like a living ice block already that would have done a wonderful job.

Suddenly he wished for the cheap brothel and the ugly prostitutes serving stale beer and sugary drinks with the cheapest alcohol you could imagine.

Where was he? How did he end up here? Why did this have to happen to him? Was there anyone he could talk to, who would listen to **_his_** demands and pleas?

A woman´s shrill shriek pierced his racing thoughts and when he whipped his head to the right he could see…someone that resembled a human being a long time ago maybe.

She was…bloody. There was no other word for it. Her dress once a beautiful yellow color now soiled almost completely with brown stains, the thought it was probably her blood drying on the fluttery material made his own freeze in his veins, hanging in loose shreds off of her. She could have been naked, for all it was worth it wouldn´t have made any difference.

Her steps were heavy and uneven and her breath labored. She´d probably run for a long time, escaping whatever evil was chasing her through this god-forsaken place. He knew it was his duty to play hero now, aid the poor damsel in distress but to his own shame he couldn´t move a muscle and to his even greater shame he didn´t even try.

Not when she fell, landing so hard on her left shoulder the crack and her scream echoing through the blackness telling him it was definitely broken.

Not when he heard the cackling laugh out of nowhere when she feebly tried to get on her feet again, her dirt-smeared face showing signs of fresh tears and open, heart-wrenching fear.

Not when the rusty, blood-crusted tip of a hook sank with a sickly squishing sound into her right thigh making him whimper in sympathy when her mouth opened in a silent cry, the pain too over-whelming for any sound to escape her brittle lips.

Not when her dirty, cracked fingernails clawed at the floor, trying to crawl away from her tormentor with the strength of a woman who desperately clung to her last breath.

Not when he witnessed how useless her attempts were. Her screams and begging carrying on even when invisible hands had long pulled her back into the shadows.

And when sudden silence finally penetrated his ears he almost wanted to weep in joy and gratitude. The breath he took felt earth-shaking and he leaned his head against the cool material of the wall behind him.

"What the hell…" he heard his rough, unused voice ask the darkness crawling around him breathlessly.

"Exactly darling, exactly…" it answered and he had the bad feeling now was his turn to run like his life depended on it.

And given **_that_** satisfied smugness it probably did.


End file.
